


Such a Jerk

by Alex_deMorra (Ergo_Sum)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ergo_Sum/pseuds/Alex_deMorra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when I have a frustrating day of writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Jerk

We woke up together, me and this little fiction I’ve been hanging out with. 

I should say, it woke me up with its caresses. It teased me with character development and rolled me with its plot premise. I loved that it was so naughty. It got under my skin. Previous fictions came to me so easily but, they were, if I was honest, a little vanilla and a bit too chav to be truly proud of. This one was sleek, or it had been before I had my way with it. Now, hours later, I was covered in sweat and it had cleaved gently across the page breaks.

It was only a one-night thing. I just needed something last night and couldn’t believe my good fortune when I got its attention. Now, it’s over. We don’t have anything to talk about.

I think it knows how I feel. The declaration of it must be written all over my face. Poor thing just pulled the sheets over its conjunctions, privately buttoning up its verbs under cover. We just met. I didn’t owe it anything, right? I shouldn’t feel guilty but, I do.

“Hey, listen,” I started hesitantly. I didn’t know how it might consider a request to be friends or, even if I wanted that. I just wanted the little ficlet to cheer up. “Maybe we can go hang out in a chat room later? There are some people there that I think you might like.” Not that we’d be there together but, perhaps, it would find another admirer. Maybe it would go home with someone else that would take better care of it. Fuck, I’m a douche.

The previously crisp white pages are now droopy and slightly crinkled. I can’t let it go out like this. “Can I give you a steam before you go?” I meant it as a peace offering but, I may have inadvertently given it false hope. “I mean, you looked so good last night. I don’t want you to leave looking like…” 

Aw. The title droops. Again. 

I know that I pushed it beyond its limits, and took its modifiers into places it has never been with another author. It gave itself to me so completely. I didn’t ask for that, and I certainly didn’t plan on it giving so much of itself away to me. But, what was I going to do? Give it common sense advice in the heat of the moment? We were sprinting, for god sakes. Fifteen hundred words every sixty minutes. You don’t just get that with every piece of writing, you know? I wasn’t just going to stop.

“Look - it isn’t you. I swear it. It’s me…” 

I had to look away as the Baskerville blurred at the edges, transforming it, bleeding the black ink over itself. Jeez. I tell it, “No, don’t do that. I didn’t mean it.” 

I grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand, and I dabbed at the edges of a serif. Then, I used the flat of my hand to smooth out the corners and put the pages back into order. “That’s a bit better, isn’t it?” I threw off the sheets and hopped out of bed. “I’m going to make some coffee, alright? Why don’t you clean yourself up and get ready for the day.” 

From the kitchen, I heard splashing noises in the bathroom and, unless I was mistaken, crisp wafting noises.

My head was in the refrigerator, searching for something easy to eat. What would a short story need for breakfast, anyway? A snick alerted me that it had already left through the front door. It would have been horrible hanging out, attempting to breakfast with mopey company. The thought of it had been making me feel ill, quite honestly. 

_It’s best_ , I tell myself. 

It will no doubt find someone more eloquent, more thought provoking than me. The thought makes me tired so I amble back to the bedroom to maybe go back to sleep.

The bed is made. It managed to tuck in hospital corners in a way I’ve never been able to do before. And, it found my throw pillows, which were artfully arranged along the headboard. But, most importantly - and most alluring - was a startling array of disembodied characters arranged over my duvet in the form of a giant middle finger. 

God, that’s hot. 

Shit.

I fucked up. 

I throw on some pants and a shirt and I run outside, barefoot. I run as fast as I can to see if I can catch up. Maybe, I can get it to talk to me again.

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright of Alex deMorra


End file.
